Chapter Six

Despite all that had happened, Meg smiled when the truck rolled to a stop at the end of Griff's long driveway. The herd of dogs that had been lying on the porch all stood, ears perked up, tails cautiously wagging.

As soon as Griff opened his door and the dogs got his scent, they were yapping and rushing toward him. It was the closest thing to heaven she could imagine in this life.

Meg parked her truck next to his and climbed out. What was not to like about a man who loved dogs—animals in general—this much? More telling was the fact that the animals clearly loved him. That they had a haven here was just icing on the cake.

He joined her at her truck and grabbed her overnight bag. "You mind if I get this bunch fed before we make dinner?"

She picked up her backpack from the floorboard. "As long as you don't mind if I help."

He grinned and reached for the backpack. "I never turn down a helping hand."

Meg opened the back door and helped Pepper from the back seat. Raymond managed to hop down all on his own. The two followed her to the front of his truck where they waited while Griff took her bags into the house. He hadn't been too happy about her insisting on driving herself over here, but she couldn't imagine being stranded in the event she had to leave. An exit strategy was far too important to be caught with no wheels.

When he went into the house she noticed he hadn't locked his door. Not a good idea, especially with her around. She'd have to talk to him about that. Or maybe she'd do him a big favor and disappear. It would be in his best interest.

The way her gut clenched made her regret having been so foolish. She should never have allowed herself to get so comfortable here, to believe for one second that she might be able to have a real fresh start the first time around. The move and then the acceptance of people in this town had been far too simple. She should have known it was too good to be true.

The herd, as Griff called them, followed him down the steps. A few low growls were exchanged as they eyed Pepper and Raymond, but Griff gave the command for the group to behave and the growls stopped. The animals, including the interlopers belonging to Meg, followed Griff and her to what looked like a barn but was actually a very large state-of-the-art doghouse. Dozens of kennels and all else that his herd might need was inside. He called each dog by name as they portioned food into their bowls.

"Pepper," Griff said as he opened the door to a vacant kennel, "I was thinking you might like this one."

Pepper sniffed the door, then wandered into the kennel and over to the bowl of kibble.

Griff closed the door. "Raymond, you come on with us."

Griff was aware that Raymond slept at Meg's bedside, and though none of his many animals stayed in the house with him, he'd insisted he wouldn't mind Raymond doing so. The sweet Lab he'd had for fourteen years had died last year, and so far Griff wasn't ready for another one to get that close. Meg understood. It was like losing a family member.

Once the dogs were settled, they moved on to the "cat barn." The four-legged furry animals seemed to come out of the woodwork. Raymond stuck close to Meg. Though he was around cats at the shop, never so many at one time.

The cat barn had once been a smokehouse used by Griff's grandparents for curing meat before the common availability of freezers. Inside were all manner of climbing areas that led to cozy little nooks. A total of fifteen cats pranced about, taking a turn at rubbing against Griff's legs. They too adored him.

Once the cats were served, Griff and Meg moved on to the big original barn where they fed the eight horses and four cows. There were two large pigs rooting around in a smaller pasture beyond the barn, and they got a little something as well. Raymond was quite curious about the snorting creatures. Meg was fairly certain he'd been around horses and cows before but never pigs.

As they headed to the house, Meg surveyed Griff's farm. No matter how many times she came here, she was still impressed by the well-thought-out setup and the enduring relationship between Griff and the animals. It really was a special place. She glanced at the man next to her. A special man.

Who deserved a woman without secrets, who could share this wonderful life with him.

She blinked away the notion. Certainly not her.

Inside, he picked up her bags and said, "I'll take these upstairs."

She nodded and did what she knew needed to be done. "I'd feel more comfortable if we locked the doors."

He studied her a moment, then gave a quick nod of his own. "Course."

She locked the door and he headed up. She moved on to the kitchen and locked the back door as well. The urge to search the house gnawed at her, but she ignored it. There was no reason for her to suspect an ambush at his address. At least not yet.

Sad. Very sad.

He joined her in the kitchen. "Your room is the second door on the right upstairs. There's only one bathroom up there. I hope you don't mind sharing."

"Not at all. I'm grateful for your hospitality."

He waved her off and headed for the fridge. "Rhianna Glen dropped off a casserole this afternoon." He withdrew a white covered dish embossed with pink flowers. "Chicken, broccoli and rice, I think she said."

Meg grinned. "I see. Rhianna Glen, huh? That's nice." No matter that she kept a teasing lilt in her voice, jealousy poked at her. This was the sort of woman who would end up wrangling Griff. Someone who had no secret past, someone who had the option of staying forever.

He laughed as he set the dish on the counter, removed the lid and prepared to put it in the microwave. "She's just trying to be nice."

Now Meg laughed outright. "I know you aren't that naive. She's recently divorced and you are a very..." How did she put it without sounding overly interested? "A good catch."

He pressed the Start button and the microwave hummed to life. "Good catch." His forehead furrowed and he executed a slow nod. "Makes me feel kind of like a largemouth bass."

Meg barely suppressed another round of laughter. "You know what I mean. Rhianna is a woman of a certain age whose upbringing has taught her that having a husband is the only way to be happy, and therefore, she must replace the old model posthaste."

Now Griff was the one laughing. "I guess so. Plenty of that going around lately."

Meg leaned against the counter next to the sink. "So, you're saying Rhianna isn't the only one."

Rhianna and her husband had divorced after four short years. No children. Rhianna was a lifetime resident of Piney Woods. She no doubt felt she should have first dibs on the town's most eligible bachelor.

He shrugged, reached into the cupboard for plates. "There may be a couple of others who bring me food. It's nothing new."

Meg decided she wouldn't mention people did that for funerals too. "They say the stomach is the way to a man's heart."

He placed the plates on the counter next to her. "Not this man."

He held her gaze for several seconds, and the look in his eyes somehow prevented her from breathing. "Sorry," she said in the lightest tone she could muster. "I wasn't aware you liked casseroles so much."

"I don't...really." He searched her face as if looking for answers to something he wanted to ask.

Uh-oh.Back to the questions. She shifted away, opened the utensil drawer and grabbed a couple of forks. "It sure smells good." He said nothing but it was true. "I've never been much of a cook," she rambled on. She'd tried since getting settled in Piney Woods, but her heart had never been in it.

When she turned back to him and passed the forks, he said, "Clearly you have other skills."

His gaze held hers in that probing way again, and somehow, try as she might, she couldn't look away. "Most animals love me, so I guess that's my superpower."

"That's not what I meant." He laid the forks on the plates without taking his eyes off hers. "How in the world did you disable two men all by yourself?"

"I told you about the self-defense classes." Was it her imagination, or was he standing purposefully closer, searching her eyes a little more intently?

He moved his head slowly side to side. "This was more than self-defense classes. Ernie says you put both down without a weapon. That one guy was huge. I couldn't have put him down. Not without some sort of advantage." His eyes narrowed. "What kind of advantage did you have?"

"The cash register," she said, struggling to prod answers from her brain. She'd foolishly lapsed into some trancelike state prompted by nothing more than Griff's nearness and his eyes. "I slammed it over his head after I kicked him...well, you know where."

Griff winced. "And what was the other guy doing during all this?"

"Watching, I think." She allowed the events to play out in her head. "He waved his gun at me, but the big guy got up and knocked him over. It was a total accident but really worked to my advantage."

This time Griff frowned. "I'm not following."

"When the big guy first went down, the skinny guy jumped to stand over him." She shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it was some sort of couldn't-get-it-right ninja move to protect his friend and at the same time confront me. Then things got a little chaotic. I dove for the floor. The gun went off." She shrugged. "I found the bat the skinny one had brought in with him and used it on the big guy. He went down again. But the skinny guy jumped up." She rubbed her forehead, trying to recall the precise chain of events. "Next thing I knew, he had me by the throat and I punched him in his throat." She looked at her right hand. Her knuckles were swollen and her fingers were a little blue. "Hurt like hell, but it hurt him worse."

Griff took her hand in his and rubbed his fingers over hers. "You need something for that?"

She watched his fingers on hers, savored the feel of her hand in his. "It's okay. I've suffered worse, believe—" She caught herself too late, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "I mean, I was in an accident once and broke my arm. That hurt a whole lot worse. I've had a..."

He was watching her so intently that she couldn't continue speaking. She wanted to, told herself to, but the words would not come.

"It feels like there are things you need to tell me," he said softly. "Things that are relevant to how you can take down two men all alone. How you can stop a man carrying a gun with nothing but your wits and a knife."

"Self-defense classes." The lie was sounding weaker all the time.

"You can tell me anything," he said, his gaze pressing hers with an insistence that made her weak. "You know that, right?"

She nodded. "I do. We're friends."

"Then why aren't you telling me?"

The images of him being tied to a chair and tortured then shot loomed in her mind. She drew her hand from his and steadied herself. Not an easy feat.

"You're overthinking this." She manufactured a smile that no doubt looked as fake as it felt. "I just got lucky. Those guys weren't nearly as tough as they work at appearing. The younger guy got all his moves from thug TV, I think."

The microwave dinged, and she had never been so thankful for Rhianna Glen's casserole.

Griff hesitated but then finally turned to take the casserole from the microwave. He placed it on the counter, then tossed the oven mitts aside and searched for a serving spoon.

Meg grabbed a couple of napkins from the holder next to the salt and pepper shakers and placed them on the table. "What're we drinking?"

"I have beer, tea, water," he replied as he placed their plates on the table. "Take your pick."

Though she rarely allowed anything that might alter her ability to think clearly, Meg decided she deserved a beer. Like last night, this had been a hell of a day. "I'll take a beer. How about you?"

"Sounds good," he agreed.

She grabbed the beers from the fridge and settled at the table. For a while, they ate and chatted about the dogs. The casserole was actually very good. They both laughed at the idea that Rhianna likely wouldn't appreciate him sharing her dish with another woman. Then they cleaned up, grabbed another beer and headed into the living room. Meg relaxed a little and decided that maybe he was going to let the whole issue go.

Deputy Battles hadn't really given her much trouble when she gave her statement. No doubt he had been a little shocked by the scene and the fact that she'd been the only one left standing but chose to overlook it, considering the two men had invaded her shop and had done considerable damage. After all, she had been lucky to survive. But time had cleared his head, and judging by the questions Griff had asked, he and Ernie had discussed what went down in her store. The more they talked, the more questions came to mind.

Now, obviously, they were both suspicious. And who wouldn't be? The question was, could she alleviate their concerns?

The ways she might accomplish that goal twisted inside her. Just another reason the life she had built here was in all probability over. Even if her past didn't find her, this would haunt her. No one would be able to just feel grateful she'd survived. There would always be questions just because she had come through unscathed, not one but two close calls. It was human nature. People were curious. They needed reasonable explanations and her explanations had not been anywhere near reasonable enough.

The quiet went on for longer than was comfortable. Guilt heaped heavier onto her shoulders and Meg struggled with something to say. She didn't like that her closest friend—and Griff was that and, if she were totally honest, more—was disappointed in her or whatever it was he felt.

But she could not go down that path with him. His life would be changed in ways he couldn't possibly understand, and she refused to be responsible for altering his entire existence to that degree.

Griff set his can aside and turned to her as if he'd finally landed on what he wanted to say next. "Are you concerned those two men will come after you again?" He studied her a moment. "I mean, you did agree without much persuasion to come home with me. I'm guessing you're at least a little worried, whether you want to admit it or not."

Meg chose her words carefully. To tell him that an abrupt exit from his place would likely be simpler and cleaner than from her shop wouldn't be the response he wanted to hear.

"I suppose I was in a sort of shock. The idea that the man's family would seek revenge never even entered my mind. Apparently, it should have." This was frankly an oversight on her part. She wouldn't have made such a rookie error in the past. Maybe she was getting soft.

"Ernie's worried there will be others, even though the two involved in today's attack won't be giving you any trouble anytime soon. Sheriff Norwood is working with the sheriff in Dade County to get a handle on the situation."

Meg nodded. "Good to know."

"Someone could confront you on the road," Griff added. "At the market. It's something you need to give some thought to."

Wait. Wait. She got it now. This was more than just about her. "Is there something about the Jones family that you and Ernie haven't told me?"

"There are a lot of good people out there who belong to very cool, very nice biker clubs. But the Jones folks are not nice, and they don't belong to a club like that. This is a criminal biker gang. Sheriff Norwood mentioned there was an FBI investigation into these guys. We're talking bad guys, Meg. Really, really bad guys."

As if she needed the situation ramped up. The FBI? Really? This just got better and better.

"Okay." She finished off her beer. "This is why you're so worried?" On some level the news was a relief. If this was the primary factor troubling Griff, then maybe he wasn't as suspicious of her as she'd believed. Somehow that made her feel a little better. "I just have to watch my back until this is sorted."

"We," he corrected. "We watch your back."

She grinned. Toyed with her empty beer can. "You may not find the job as interesting as you think."

The ghost of a smile tugged at his lips, but he wasn't ready to shrug off the seriousness just yet. "I'm willing to find out."

Again, she carefully selected her words. "You're a good friend, Griff. I appreciate your consideration of my welfare."

"I appreciate," he teased, "that you keep my life interesting."

Meg laughed. She wasn't sure if that was a compliment. "I wish I could say I try, but to be honest, the interesting part just barges in."

"Ernie wondered if you had ever considered keeping a handgun for protection."

If she'd had any other question about the idea, this was clearly confirmation that they had indeed been discussing her. "I'm good with my knife."

Handguns, if done legally, involved background checks. Not doable. If she told him she already had a weapon, then she'd have to reveal that it had not been legally purchased. Either way, this would create a problem. It was best to insist she didn't like guns. And she didn't. Not really. That said, they were a necessary evil sometimes.

"I have a rifle you could keep at your place."

"I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't feel comfortable with a rifle."

"We could do some target practice with it tomorrow. Get you comfortable with it." He grinned. "See how bad you really are."

"Couldn't hurt, I suppose." What else could she say? Not that she was an expert marksman. Not that she could disassemble and reassemble any firearm he chose to put in front of her in record time.

"Good. I, for one, will feel better knowing you've got a little firepower handy."

"I'm tired of talking about me," she said, curling her legs under her and settling deeper into the comfy sofa. "Tell me about how you decided to become a keeper of discarded things."

"Didn't we talk about this before?"

"I've asked, and you've always given me the abridged version. I want the details."

He leaned back, draped an arm across the back of the sofa. "I guess I had that one coming."

For the first time since before she'd spotted the holdup at the Gas and Go, she relaxed and waited for him to continue. Just avoiding further discussion about her was a significant boost to lowering her tension.

"I was working sixteen-hour days," he began. "Not that I didn't love my job, but there's a fine line between love and obsession. I think it was easier than coming home and facing the discord there."

"Relationships can be difficult sometimes." Meg was well aware. Her one serious relationship had crumbled under the tension of high-pressure work. Hers and his. Man, that had been so long ago. Another life.

"I guess I didn't want to see the end coming, but it came anyway, whether I was here or not. Once it was over, I had to ask myself why I was pouring my whole life into something that should only occupy a small portion of it." He glanced around the room. "I wanted to be here doing something that mattered at least part of my time. One evening, I went out to get my car from the parking garage, and there was a dog. It looked alone and sad, neglected. I gave it a scratch behind the ears and the bag of chips I had in my car." He stared at his hands a moment. "The next evening it was still there. So I loaded him up and took him to a shelter. That was when my eyes were really opened. There just aren't enough shelters—worse, there aren't enough decent humans, in my opinion—to care for the animal population. I decided I had to do something."

"You could have donated funds for building more shelters. That's what most people do. Throw a little money at it. Sometimes it's the best they can do. Sometimes it's just easier that way because you don't have to look too closely."

"I did that too," he said with a pointed look in her direction. "And I still do. But I had all this land, and since farming wasn't my thing, I decided to use it for something that mattered. I can't save the world, but I can do all possible to save the part of it that I live in."

"Wow." She had known part of that story, but this, this was the sort of tale real-life heroes were made of. "That's amazing."

"I still enjoy the work I do on a professional level at the firm, but most of my time is spent here doing what matters."

"I'm sure your mom and your sister are very proud of what you're doing here." How could they not be? This was amazing.

He chuckled. "Mostly, I think they believe I'm in denial about barreling toward forty with no wife and no kids and nary a prospect."

Meg wanted to laugh at the idea, but she got the distinct impression that he was serious. "I'm sure your family would love to hear about your casserole queens."

"I think they'd enjoy hearing about you."

Their gazes held for a long moment. Every ounce of will power Meg possessed was required not to pursue his motive behind the statement.

Instead, she stood, stretched and yawned. "I'm beat. I hope you don't mind if I hit the shower and call it a night a little early."

"Right." He pushed to his feet. "I'm sure you're exhausted. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks." She backed away a step. "See you in the morning." She headed for the stairs.

"Night," he called after her.

"Night," she said without looking back. She couldn't trust herself to look back without running right into his arms.